Don't Ever Change
by hwshipper
Summary: Oh my God," House said in horror. "You're sleeping with me." Wilson's breath caught in his throat. Of *course* they were... Episode 4.12 Don't Ever Change interpreted through the prism of House/Wilson established relationship.


**Title:** Don't ever change _(or you might stop fucking me)_  
**Author:** hwshipper  
**Disclaimer**: All characters belong to Heel and Toe Films, Shore Z Productions and Bad Hat Harry Productions in association with Universal Media Studios.  
**Beta:** Excellent advice as ever from triedunture

**Summary:** A different kind of post-DEC fic. Episode 4.12 _Don't Ever Change_ interpreted through the prism of House/Wilson established relationship.

**Don't ever change (**_**or you might stop fucking me)**_

"This isn't just about the sex," House said, realization dawning. "You like her personality, you like that she's conniving. You like that she has no regard for consequences. You like that she can humiliate someone if it serves--"

There was a pause. Wilson looked at House, trying to see where this was going. People bustled around them.

"Oh my God," House said in horror. "You're sleeping with me."

Wilson's breath caught in his throat. Of all the times over the last twenty years he'd thought House was about to out them in public, this really took the cake.

But no; that wasn't what this was about. Puzzled, he stared back at House's mortified expression, trying to see what House was getting at. And then House abruptly turned on his heel, shoving the cocktail glass into Wilson's hand, and left. No smart remarks, no final jibe at Amber. He really was rattled. Wilson hesitated for a second, then headed across the restaurant towards the table to join Amber, his mind whirling, trying to figure out what had just happened.

Of _course_ they were fucking sleeping together. Always had been. Always would. Amber wouldn't make any difference to that--well, maybe a little. Not so much time to spend with House, of course; more difficult to be discreet. But it wasn't anything new. Five years of Stacy and three marriages along the way hadn't made much difference, for goodness sake; a bit of angst, some self-doubt perhaps. Nothing they hadn't got through. House knew that. Why was this any different?

Wilson had expected jealousy, spying, and sabotage. He'd anticipated House turning up in Amber's apartment (he should have warned her about that, really), and House's job offer to Amber. All that was par for the course.

He hadn't expected... consternation. Dismay. Panic.

He smiled at Amber as he sat down. He temporarily tuned House out of his head, and switched to give Amber his full attention.

* * *

House got up early the next morning to give himself time to stop at Wilson's hotel. It wasn't like he'd slept much, anyway. Those five shots of bourbon before bed had rendered him unconscious without actually providing him with any feeling of rest at the end of it. He wanted to talk to Wilson, although at the back of his mind he knew he was going to the hotel to get laid, too. It was always a good idea to reassert his own position before Wilson got too mired down in other relationships.

The outrage he felt, when he found a maid's cart propping the door open and the room empty, was partly at not finding Wilson there, and partly that he'd got up early but wasn't going to get laid after all.

"What do you mean, he's checked out?" he demanded. The receptionist, who recognized him as a frequent visitor who caused trouble, glared back at him without affection or any further information. House slammed a fist down on the counter and stomped away, his cane thumping the floor with more force than usual.

So the stupid fucker had moved in with Amber. Great. He'd languished in this fleapit of a hotel for nearly two years rather than move back in with House, like House had asked. And now he'd moved in with Cutthroat Bitch after four weeks. It was a kick in the guts.

And why the fuck hadn't he seen this coming? House got in his car and sat there for a moment, looking back, trying to see what he'd missed. Christmas... Wilson hadn't been around when House might have expected him to be. Hadn't arrived on his doorstep with a take-out and a six-pack for a night of TV and banter and fumbling drunken sex. House remembered Wilson, tipsy at the hospital party, wearing that stupid moose hat. Happy--and not just because of the alcohol. Because he was in the first ecstatic weeks of a new relationship. House rested his head against the steering wheel, frustrated. He'd been occupied with that lying knee-breast-cancer mother and the Madonna-whore, but how could he not have noticed?

If he hadn't fired her... if he hadn't paged _her_ before he'd stuck that knife in the electric socket...

House fired up the car engine and headed to work.

* * *

Wilson signed the form and started to walk towards his office, only to find House swooping on him while he was still outside the elevator.

"I went by your hotel this morning," House announced. "They told me you moved out. Moved in with CB?"

Wilson had known this would be coming at some point. He was surprised to hear House had discovered it so quickly, though. To stop by in the _morning_?--House must really have wanted to see him.

"No, apparently I moved in with you," Wilson deadpanned back.

Wilson had given a lot of thought to this overnight. _You're sleeping with me. _House was upset about Amber because she was like him. This meant the threat she posed was different to that of Julie or Bonnie or Cath or anyone else. House was afraid this one might actually last; and if Wilson was sleeping with Amber then he might not feel the need to sleep with House any more. This was all hogwash, obviously, but Wilson was one of the few people who knew that House's weighty ego and immense self-confidence didn't actually extend much beyond his medical prowess.

"The fact that you're resisting my insight proves--" House began.

"House, you're right." Wilson interrupted. "Why not? Why not date you? It's brilliant: we've known each other for years, we put up with all kinds of crap from each other...and we keep coming back. We're a couple!"

After his own shock the day before, Wilson was secretly delighted to see House's eyes flick nervously from side to side while he was talking. He'd hoped to see this, to see House go through the same _what the fuck? _thought process that House had put him through in the restaurant. _Is he outing us, right here, right now, in the hospital for Chrissake?!_

"Are we still speaking metaphorically?" House asked, smooth, covering up the edges.

"Amber is exactly what I need." Wilson was firm. "And you would agree if you weren't mired in self-loathing, topped with a thin crust of megalomania."

"Hey, that's my best friends girl you're talking about," House said solemnly. Wilson pointed a finger, amused, and started to move off down the corridor.

But it wasn't over yet. "I was wrong," House stopped him.

"House! You're right." Wilson was exasperated.

"She's not me. Well, she is me--but that's not why she's attractive."

_You wish, _Wilson thought.

"She's a needy version of me," House concluded.

This really was rich. Anyone less needy than Amber, and indeed more needy than House, was difficult to believe. "Hard to imagine such a mythical creature."

"You started seeing her right after I fired her," House persisted.

"I started seeing her four months ago," Wilson maintained.

"She told Kutner it was four _weeks_."

Fuck. That had been a stupid lie. He'd known that one would come out eventually; shame it had to be now.

"You lied to me. There's money on the line," House continued.

"Because I knew how you'd react and I knew you wouldn't pay me anyway!" Wilson heard his voice rise. Like the bet was even remotely relevant to what they were talking about.

"You knew that I was right," House declared.

"She wasn't needy." Wilson tried to put the record straight. He would not let House pigeonhole Amber along with the others. "She was...in a...bad situation. There's a difference." He stepped away towards his office.

"Not to your libido," House called after him.

After all the times Wilson had fucked House and let House fuck him when House was down and depressed and in pain, this really was a dig in the ribs. The ungrateful son-of-a-bitch. But a new thought had struck Wilson, and he turned and walked back towards House.

"Wait a minute, wait a minute...Why are you doing this? Every time I agree with you, you find a new argument." He stared at House. "What are you trying to avoid?"

And House, for once, didn't have a ready quip or a barbed comment at the ready.

Wilson waited, then couldn't resist laying it on thick. "Well, if you'd looked at me with those flashing eyes before I was involved...

This was cruel and House's expression stayed grim. Wilson was fed up with House and his mindfuck now, though, and headed into his office saying over his shoulder, "C'est la vie. And I use the French...because you're an ass." He let the door slam behind him

* * *

House stood looking at the words JAMES WILSON M.D. for a minute, before people walking past started to look at him curiously. He then turned and walked away, Wilson's question pulsing through his head; _What are you trying to avoid?_

What could he have said?

_Why the fuck do you need her when you've got me?_

_Why the hell do you and I keep on trying to form relationships with other people when we've managed to stay together through twenty years?_

_It's time to stop this stupid understanding that either of us can date somebody else and the other will be fine with that. For once and for all..._

No. He couldn't have said that, any of it. The words would just not have left his mouth. Better to leave all that all well alone. He could never risk laying down the line in that way; he was too afraid of what Wilson's response would be.

Ever since he'd tumbled into bed nearly twenty years ago with that saucer-eyed puppy dog of a med student, the one with the engaging smile and the ready banter, and yes, the _sweetest, tightest_ ass House had ever seen--there had always been women. Wives and girlfriends (and occasionally, boyfriends too). Wilson had been engaged to be married when House had met him, for Christ's sake; the pattern never changed. House had _never _been enough for Wilson. Wilson always hankered after something House couldn't give him, and it wasn't sex; they had that in spades. They were at the same time perfectly compatible and yet also too dysfunctional to make each other happy all the time; Wilson, the more optimistic of the two of them, just had to try for more sometimes.

House could understand it; he, too, sometimes got a glimpse of possible relationships beyond Wilson, and was tempted--like with Cate at the South Pole just a few days ago. This didn't mean he was willing to let Wilson try and get it, especially when it just had to be doomed from the start. This was Cutthroat Bitch, after all.

Wilson wasn't budging on this one. House would have to try and find another way to break this up.

He took a deep breath and went off to see Cuddy and to phone CB.

* * *

Wilson finished the last bit of work he'd wanted to get done that day, turned off his computer and stood up to get ready to go home.

He was despondent. The conversation with Cuddy earlier had taken him by surprise and left him a little stunned. She'd agreed with House. Taken his side. She, too, thought the relationship with Amber just wouldn't work.

Ever since he'd fallen into bed nigh on twenty years ago with that tall, grizzled resident, the one with the rapier wit and the devil-may-care attitude, those strong yet gentle hands, and flashing, yes _flashing_, blue eyes--there'd been girlfriends. Always strong and attractive and self-possessed. House had lived with Stacy for five years, for fuck's sake. Wilson still remembered that phone call from House that had hit worse than any physical blow: _I'm living with someone. Her name's Stacy, she moved in a week ago..._ It could happen again. It could happen tomorrow. He'd recognized Cate as House's type immediately. If she wasn't at the South Pole...

And hey, he could cope with that. He knew House was seeking something he couldn't give, and after all he himself had gone through three marriages and God knows how many other relationships during the same time. This didn't mean he was always very happy about it, and especially not when House was set on sabotaging this thing with Amber.

He didn't know what to do. The last month had been so great; he'd really felt like he was coming out into the light after a long dark winter. His shrink had been so pleased with him too, seeing him dating again as real progress. Was he really going to let House drag him down again? No, he wasn't. But could he really keep making progress with House behaving like this? He didn't think so. House would always be there. He just wanted a less miserable House, House the way he used to be, House when he was light-hearted and playful and brilliant. Not bitter and twisted and jealous. Damnit, why couldn't House just be happy for him, for once?

And then it was as if his prayers was answered, as House stuck his head round the door, and said, "I've decided you could do worse than a female proxy for me."

House vanished. Wilson stood gaping for a minute, staring at the door. What the hell had just happened?

He raced out into the corridor to see the elevator doors closing. He went for the stairwell; so useful sometimes when evading House, and now in catching him up. He caught House in the lobby. Wanted, in fact, to grab him and hug him right there; but careful to maintain control, he took the opportunity to ask questions instead. "You're going to acknowledge people can change?"

"Nope." House denied that either Wilson, or Amber, had changed; but evaded, Wilson noticed, the question of whether he himself had changed.

"Do you know what this means?" Wilson said in wonderment, following House outside.

"That you've made one good dating choice," House said grumpily, and Wilson could hardly believe what he'd heard. The stamp of House's approval. "The fabric of the space-time continuum can unravel."

"My world could expand." Wilson stared up at the sky. "I could form a long-term connection with someone who isn't you. And since you put the darkest possible construction on everything, you could end up losing a friend."

He used the word _friend_ deliberately. He knew it was their long-lasting emotional bond that House was scared of losing. The _soul mate_ thing that they never talked about, but was always hovering between them. Not the sex.

"You've thought of all this. And yet you're going along with it," Wilson realized. "Are you being... self-sacrificing?"

House denied that, naturally; but then Wilson expected no less. The "Shabbat shalom, Wilson," as House walked away was unexpected, and welcome.

"Shabbat shalom, House," Wilson echoed, and headed back inside with a light heart.

* * *

House took deep breaths in the cold air as he walked to his car, filling his lungs.

He had always thought the saying _if you love someone, set them free_ was sentimental crap. The worst kind of overemotional shit found on pathetic greeting cards. He still thought the words were vapid and sappy, but he now had some understanding of the position behind them. _If they come back, they are yours: if they don't, they never were_.

House knew Wilson would be back; probably round at his apartment that weekend with a sheepish smile and a six pack of beer; and if not, the following weekend. On his couch and later, in his bed. And that would go on whether this Amber thing lasted two months or two years. And in the meantime, Wilson would be happy; and a happy Wilson was more likely to indulge him when he wanted. With sex and drugs and rock'n roll.

House clambered into his car and stuck the Rolling Stones on the stereo.

END


End file.
